


Re: Ghosts of Our Past

by misfitcutie



Category: Ghostbusters (Comics), Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989)
Genre: Gen, how do tags work on here, i write shit like this bc idk what an action scene is, its just implied that egon and janine were married with a child, no real relationship stuff, this shit is sad btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:03:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14673606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfitcutie/pseuds/misfitcutie
Summary: It's now canon that Ghostbusters 1984 and 2016 are separate dimensions but I got to thinking, what would the transition between groups be if they weren't? What happened to the original boys in grey that made the world forget who they were? This is inspired by what Tiamat took from Winston.





	Re: Ghosts of Our Past

**Author's Note:**

> This was written very casually. I was, at first, just writing in a way to expand on my idea but my writing style transitioned into an actual fic. Also, I was drinking. I couldn't be bothered to do a lot of editing.

 

> `oh no I made myself sad [fri. may 4] `
> 
> `I forgot what made me sad and only recently remembered. `
> 
> `I was thinking about how the original busters’ world could be connected to the new girls. What if they sacrificed their past in the way Winston had with Tiyah? `
> 
> `Like, I dunno… [sat. may 12] `

 

Peter wakes up and his head is pounding. He’s not sure where he is at first until he’s able to force himself to sit up on his couch. It feels like his mouth is full of cotton. He’s trying to remember what happened last night but it’s all black. Eventually, he gets to his answering machine and there’s a message from Colombia? They’re asking why he hasn’t shown up? The gears in his mind are turning but aren’t making any thoughts. He tends to his hangover before trying and failing to call Ray. The number isn’t connecting. His last-ditch attempt is to call Egon. He’s not sure why he’s trying to get a hold of them. He feels like he has to. 

The line rings for a long time, he’s about to hang up when it clicks. A quiet, quivering, "Hello?" 

It’s such odd inflexion for his colleague he doesn’t recognise him, maybe he dialled wrong, "Uh, this is Dr. Spengler, right?" 

"Peter." 

Something tightens in his chest. "You okay, Spengs?" 

"Peter they’re gone." A little louder now, the voice cracks. He still feels like it’s not the collected physicist he knows. 

"Who? Who’s gone?" 

"You have to remember.  _You have_ _to._ _"_  

 

Peter says he’ll be right over. He doesn’t recall where Egon lives, somehow, he guesses. Again, it’s a while before Egon opens the door. It’s a small, one-bedroom apartment. It’s bare and cold; surprisingly there’s less machinery than he expected. Part of him excepted the apartment to be bigger, warmer. Maybe two bedrooms. He feels like "head of parapsychological research" wasn’t the role he was supposed to be in right now. He was supposed to be someone more light-hearted, someone less hungover. Why does he feel like he should’ve brought a toy? 

They’re staring at each other. Egon looks like he’s been crying. Peter’s known him for nearly twenty years but has never seen him express anything like this. Wait twenty years? That sounds like a long time, but shouldn’t it be longer? 

Egon turns back into his kitchen and sits at the table. Peter sits across from him. He’s grasping at something he can’t see. The blackness isn’t from drinking. 

"Yeager called. He wants to know why we haven’t shown up." Almost to himself, "Why haven’t we shown up?" He massages his temples. "Who’s missing?" 

Egon clears his throat and shifts in his seat, trying to compose himself, "What’s the last thing you remember?" The question was clinical. 

"Man, I don’t know. I’ve had one hell of a night. I haven’t felt like this since…" Since? There’s a burning sensation on his chest that radiates across his skin. Something like lighting. 

 

"I need you to remember last night," Egon was leaning forward with his arms against the table. Peter slumped back and closed his eyes, trying to put the pieces together. Some of them were missing but maybe he could still figure out the picture. 

There had been an intense feeling of dread that made the hair on his arms stand _now_. It was dark out, but it wasn’t night. He was cold but sweat stung his eyes. 

Suddenly he was dizzy. He nearly fell off the chair but quickly braced himself with the table. 

"The events of last night will come back soon, with that, everything else. You have to. That’s part of the sacrifice." Egon stood up and walked over to a work table in what should’ve been the living room. 

Peter regained his balance and followed him, "Hey, you never answered my question." He felt like he had a lot of questions, none of which had words. 

"Have you tried calling Ray?" He was shuffling through papers.  

"I tried, yeah, but it wouldn’t connect." 

"Which number did you try?" Egon finds what he’s looking for then turns to a box on the floor. 

"The bookstore." The answer was automatic. What bookstore? 

"It’s 1984. Ray hasn’t opened the store yet." 

Another piece falls into place. He’s standing in front of a counter, grabbing Ray by the ears and twisting them. "Who?" It’s more of an echo than a question. 

He’s leaning on the workbench, it feels like the floor just fell out from under him. He’s drowning in images he can’t quite put together until a pair of eyes surface. They’re attached to a face, but he can’t be distracted from the yellow scleras boring into his soul. They had no choice, but he still feels guilty. It was mutual destruction, but it was him who voiced the agreement. The angry god was gone and with it, everything they had every worked toward. He's quiet for a moment. 

"Egon, I’m sorry." 

Egon was back at the workbench with a variety of electronic pieces. He didn’t look up, "It’s not your fault. There was nothing we could do." 

"I didn’t even think-"  

"If you hadn’t have said anything, I would have. There’s no way in hell I would allow my daughter to live in a world ravaged by that  _thing._ " 

 

Peter had worked for years trying to crack Egon’s shell. In the end, it was their petite secretary who got him to show his true colours. It was a real-life cliché; a cold, calculating man’s hard exterior shattered by the warmth of a… spitfire woman with a Brooklynn accent. Okay, maybe not entirely cliché, but definitely kinky.  

They eventually settled in together and got married. They even had a child. Peter could never imagine himself as a father, but he happily accepted the role of the crazy uncle. Oh, that was the role he was thinking of earlier.  

He watched Egon for a while before asking what it was he was trying to accomplish.  

"I’m trying to keep myself busy. I’m also trying to remember where we were in our work. We have to rebuild everything." It wasn’t a lie, but Egon was just mindlessly pushing things around. "Do you think she remembers?" 

"I don’t know," Peter shifted uncomfortably, "I do know we need to find Ray and Winston." 

 

* * *

 

"Do you think we should’ve called Yeager back?" Peter knocked on the apartment door. 

"We have better things to worry about." Egon threw his calculator into his bag. 

"Ray, let’s go!" Peter knocked harder this time. 

The door opened. Ray grunted and rubbed his face. He looked like hell and he wasn’t wearing any pants. 

Peter let out an annoyed sigh, "Christ," and pushed his way inside. Egon followed suit and quickly sat on the sofa, locking himself back inside his head. 

"Good morning, sunshine, it’s just past noon." Peter gave Ray a slap on the shoulder, "You have a one-man party last night?"  

"Feels like it." His voice was dry and hoarse, which he cleared with a mucus-y cough. He pulled a pair of jeans off the back of the recliner and fought to pull them on. He dug a soft pack of cigarettes out of the front pocket and lit one. 

Peter stood in front of him. "Didn’t you quit?" 

Ray’s brow furrowed and shrugged. 

"Seriously now, what do you remember?"  

"I dunno, I had a really strange dream though." Ray flopped on the couch next to Egon. 

"Would you like a Freudian analysis?" Peter sat in the recliner adjacent to them. 

"That’s the only way it would get weirder." He took a drag of his cigarette before continuing, "There was this guy in a suit. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark. I can’t remember what he said." He looked up and unexpectedly found that both Egon and Peter were looking at him intently. 

"So, what’s weird about a guy in a suit?" 

"Uh," Ray suddenly felt nervous, "I don’t remember going to sleep. It’s almost like he pulled me out of consciousness." He shook his head, "You guys were there, sort of? Nothing was moving. I don’t know how to explain it." 

"Just work backwards." 

"I think he was upset with me- us? We were on top of a building, I think. Something else was there too but I couldn’t see it. It was everywhere and nowhere at the same time." His pace was picking up, with every step he remembered more, "It felt so real," he put out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table, "Egon, I think we should run some tests." He jumped up with new enthusiasm, "This could be some sort of psi event like precognition or-" 

Egon interrupted him, "It was real." 

Ray blinked in surprise. Egon wasn’t one to jump to conclusions. He continued, "You met your spirit guide. You’ll remember everything soon. Now we need to get a hold of Zeddemore. We were hoping you had his number?" 

Ray rattled off a number he didn’t recognise, his face was twisted in confusion. "What happened?" 

"Can I tell him?" Peter batted his eyelashes at Egon who nodded in response before heading for the landline. 

"I have a question for you, Ray." 

He rolled his eyes and sat back down, he hated it when Peter used that tone. He was being ornery. "What is it?" 

"Are you a god?" 

 

The first thing Ray remembered was a warm summer day in Islip when he was a child. He was laying in the dirt, pinned under his older brother, Carl. He was sitting on Ray’s chest with his knees on his arms. His left hand was holding Ray’s head down by the left cheek, Carl’s thumb pulling down on his lower eyelid. In his right hand, he held an ice pick he’d swiped from the kitchen. An hour before he had overheard their father speaking his opinion on lobotomies.  

Right now, Ray was wondering if this is what it would’ve felt like if Jean hadn’t started screeching for their mother, keeping his frontal lobe intact.  

The conversation he had with his spirit guide became clear through the pain. 

 

> _"_ _Ya_ _can’t leave without saying goodbye to me,_ _"_ _the shorter man pulled him away from the scene. Peter stood out in front of them, frozen in utter defeat. Egon_ _had_ _dropped his wand and_ _was staring at his gloved hands. Winston was still vigilant, armed with his pack. The agreement saved life as they knew_ _it_ _but it was devastating._   
> 
> _"_ _Goodbye? Won’t I see you again?_ _"_  
> 
> _"_ _Without the Ghostbusters,_ _ya_ _won’t be risking the fabric of reality every other week. I’ll still be here, I just won’t have a reason to contact_ _ya_ _._ _"_  
> 
> _Ray looked back at his friends,_ _"_ _We will remember everything right? They weren’t lying?_ _"_  
> 
> _"_ _Yes_ _,_ _but_ _it_ _won’t be as relieving as_ _ya_ _think._ _"_  
> 
> _"_ _We’ll have the hindsight though. We can do it all again!_ _"_  
> 
> _"_ _You’ve always been an optimist. Promise me you’ll keep that attitude._ _"_  
> 
> _"_ _…I promise._ _"_  

Ray was bent forward with his head in his hands. His life’s work, it was all gone.  

Egon hung up the phone and sat back down on the couch. "Winston is on his way here." 

Peter held his chin in his palm, propped on his knee, "He sounded angry." 

"Yes, he’s been waiting for us to contact him. He didn’t have any of our personal numbers until after we founded the company. He also said that he remained conscious through the whole ordeal." 

"Lucky him." 

 

* * *

 

Before Winston arrived, Ray hopped in the shower and put on a fresh set of clothes. Peter made some semblance of tidying up. Really, he just moved any stray dishes into the sink and threw any trash into the waste can. He wasn't much of a homemaker, but it was better than sitting in silence with Egon. He was lost in himself.  

Now that Winston was here, they all sat in the living space sharing that uncomfortable silence.   

"So," Peter looked at Winston, "what have you got?" 

"I dunno, man," Winston gave a light shrug and dropped his hands in his lap. "What else could we have done? It feels like a raw deal but we're here. We're alive and so is everyone else." 

"What do we do now?" Peter looked back to Egon and Ray, neither looking hopeful.  

"Isn't this close to the time you guys got the call from the library?" The paper Winston brought claimed that it was June. The visit had been in early fall sometime at the beginning of the semester. "Maybe we could get the drop on Twitty."  

Ray put out another cigarette, "But the only reason she manifested was to protect the codex and since Tiamat got rid of Gozer she'll probably remain dormant. Gozer's eviction from this dimension was a separate event from our sacrifice. Right?" He prodded Egon into the conversation. 

"It depends on how our time was taken," Egon fell into the tone of a disconnected lecturer, "With every decision we make, the dimensions split. Either our consciousness has been sent back to the time before we investigated the library, or this is a copy of that time which has been grafted as the opposite to our deaths. If it's the former it may create a loophole that would allow Gozer to re-enter or dimension. The latter, however, leaves us with nothing." 

"No Gozer, no Ghostbusters," Peter scoffed, "I can't believe we owe it to that twink." 

The silence fell again. Peter wasn't sure if he could go back to writing bullshit journal articles while finagling a bigger budget from the board of regents. He knew ties were going to be cut before the disaster at the public library.  

Ray had always enjoyed teaching, it wouldn't be hard to go back to that. Maybe he could try opening the bookstore again? It wouldn't get as much business now without the name of a Ghostbuster painted on the front window.  

Winston was without a job again; he had been looking for months before the guys placed an ad in the paper. No one seemed to want a Vietnam veteran. He did get a lot of mechanical training while working with Ray. At least he could add that to his resume. 

Egon missed his family. He had built weapons and tools to investigate the world of the unknown. He proved that what he believed in was real. He didn't just become a leading scientist in his field, he founded it with his closest friends. It was his job to explore the absurd and fantastical- even save the day. Not once did he dare to dream the American dream. It wasn't built for people like him.   

He cried. At first, it was only silent tears. He kept his head down, trying not to draw attention to it. He took off his glasses and clutched them in one hand. He pressed the other to his eyes; wishing he could quell the outburst manually. He gasped for air, his whole body shuddered under the weight of his loss. Ray's hand found his shoulder. He curled forward, begging for it all to stop. The sobs washed through him in waves.

Would she remember him? 


End file.
